#stephen leacock

[chantssecrets]

Portrait of Stephen Leacock, 🎨 by Edwin Holgate

[oldshowbiz]

Stephen Leacock: First Editions

[muhammad-ubaidullah-khan]

MY FINANCIAL CAREER

by Stephen Leacock

[fidjiefidjie]

“Evitez soigneusement de faire du sport : il y a des gens qui sont payés pour ça.” 🤼‍♂️ 🤸‍♀️🏋️‍♂️🧘‍♀️😁

Stephen Leacock

Gif de Max Degtyarev

[anaratto]

Stephen Leacock was the English-speaking world's best-known humorist between 1915 and 1925. He was awarded the Mark Twain Medal for humour, the Royal Society of Canada's Lorne Pierce Medal and the Governor General's Literary Award for non-fiction.

[exhaled-spirals]

« When I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me. The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.

[...] I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. [...] I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral. "Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know why I said "alone." "Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him.

The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket. "Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it. "Yes," he said. "Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident. The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful secret to reveal. "[...] I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank." The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould. "A large account, I suppose," he said. "Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly." The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant. "Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning."

[...] I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick. My face was ghastly pale. "Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us." [...] He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes. "Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice. "It is," said the accountant. "Then I want to draw a cheque."

My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it. "What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me. Reckless with misery, I made a plunge. "Yes, the whole thing." "You withdraw your money from the bank?" "Every cent of it." "Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished. "Never."

An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a wretched attempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper. The clerk prepared to pay the money. "How will you have it?" he said. "What?" "How will you have it?" "Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think—"in fifties." He gave me a fifty-dollar bill. "And the six?" he asked dryly. "In sixes," I said.

He gave it me and I rushed out. [...] Since then I bank no more. »

— Stephen Leacock, Literary Lapses

[elcielosobremi]

Muchos hombres se enamoran de un hoyuelo y cometen el error de casarse con la chica entera.

Stephen Leacock

[historiasdeldivan]

Creo muchísimo en la suerte y descubro que cuanto más trabajo, más suerte tengo.

Stephen Leacock